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Authors: Alyse Raines
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start the heavy training in a week, if you give me an idea of what you want to work on,” Andrew said.
TaylorandLogan’s enthusiastic response almost drowned out the sound of her phone. Sawyer felt it as much as she heard it. She’d become hardwired to recognize whatever sound her phone made when a text message came through. She knew Rachel wouldn’t be texting her—not after her blissed-out week with Lola.
Everything faded away. People and conversation, the smell of fajita spices and sizzling peppers, heat from Andrew’s body next to her—gone, until she sat alone with her phone. This time she knew. How? She couldn’t say. But she knew.
She opened the message, expecting the worst.
Five words looked up at her.
Five little words sent from over six hundred miles away.
Five words, meant to scare her.
And they did.
You can’t hide from me.
****
The rest of the night after she read his text passed in a blur. Sawyer didn’t even taste the chicken Andrew ordered for her. When he drove back to their building, she got out of his truck without saying a word—she walked into the building and up the stairs, shut her door, locked it, and ran to her bedroom. Hiding. Playing turtle.
Sawyer should have changed her number when she moved, but she couldn’t—what if something happened to Courtney? No one ever called her, though. She embarrassed her entire family, and the day she left, they made it clear she wasn’t welcome back. The only one who contacted her was Chase.
Early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting sunbeams across the room. A glance at her phone made Sawyer sigh. Not even six yet. On a Sunday morning. Groan .
She tried forcing herself back to sleep. Threw a pillow over her head. I wonder how much Andrew hates me now . He had to. After the way she acted last night? She wouldn’t be surprised if he never looked at her again. He’ll probably avoid me, and stop sitting beside me in Fundamentals, and—
Sawyer groaned and rolled onto her stomach. Half the bedding slid down to the floor. Cool air brushed her bare legs. She hadn’t bothered putting pajamas on last night and regretted that lazy-bum action now. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best … I bet even his dog hates me now .
Nope. Sleep was not happening. Which sucked, considering the lack of quality rest she got last night. Bad dreams, tossing and turning, and that was not even mentioning the hour-long wrestling match with the covers. Sawyer pushed up on her elbows, her stomach growling. Five little words screwed up the delicate balance she’d tried to achieve in her new life. Swing and a miss.
Another rumble in her empty jungle, and Sawyer trudged to the shower. She had the early morning shift at The Spot, the campus bookstore café, and had to bake a couple batches of muffins. Well, if popping a batch of premade, just-add-water mix in a tray and putting it in the oven counted as baking. Discarded clothes from the night before littered the floor. Sawyer ignored them, shoving on a pair of shapeless jeans and an equally unflattering sweater. Worn sneakers completed the look, if thrift store chic was a look.
The hallway was clear when she stepped out. No signs of movement from Andrew’s door. No Rosie barking and running over to lick her hand. Sawyer stared at Andrew’s place. She half expected him to swing the door open after spending the night staring through the peephole. He seemed like that kind of guy.
At the café, Sawyer heated the ovens and started up the fancy coffee machine, then poured the mix and water into a mixer. Watching muffin mix was boring and gave her overactive imagination time to come up with a million scenarios, all ending with the same scene: Chase, here in Boone, doing what he threatened every time they were in the same room.
The mixer finished. She shut down her crazy and spooned the mix into muffin liners, finishing just as her phone chimed. This time, she didn’t jump—the
TaylorandLogan’s enthusiastic response almost drowned out the sound of her phone. Sawyer felt it as much as she heard it. She’d become hardwired to recognize whatever sound her phone made when a text message came through. She knew Rachel wouldn’t be texting her—not after her blissed-out week with Lola.
Everything faded away. People and conversation, the smell of fajita spices and sizzling peppers, heat from Andrew’s body next to her—gone, until she sat alone with her phone. This time she knew. How? She couldn’t say. But she knew.
She opened the message, expecting the worst.
Five words looked up at her.
Five little words sent from over six hundred miles away.
Five words, meant to scare her.
And they did.
You can’t hide from me.
****
The rest of the night after she read his text passed in a blur. Sawyer didn’t even taste the chicken Andrew ordered for her. When he drove back to their building, she got out of his truck without saying a word—she walked into the building and up the stairs, shut her door, locked it, and ran to her bedroom. Hiding. Playing turtle.
Sawyer should have changed her number when she moved, but she couldn’t—what if something happened to Courtney? No one ever called her, though. She embarrassed her entire family, and the day she left, they made it clear she wasn’t welcome back. The only one who contacted her was Chase.
Early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting sunbeams across the room. A glance at her phone made Sawyer sigh. Not even six yet. On a Sunday morning. Groan .
She tried forcing herself back to sleep. Threw a pillow over her head. I wonder how much Andrew hates me now . He had to. After the way she acted last night? She wouldn’t be surprised if he never looked at her again. He’ll probably avoid me, and stop sitting beside me in Fundamentals, and—
Sawyer groaned and rolled onto her stomach. Half the bedding slid down to the floor. Cool air brushed her bare legs. She hadn’t bothered putting pajamas on last night and regretted that lazy-bum action now. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best … I bet even his dog hates me now .
Nope. Sleep was not happening. Which sucked, considering the lack of quality rest she got last night. Bad dreams, tossing and turning, and that was not even mentioning the hour-long wrestling match with the covers. Sawyer pushed up on her elbows, her stomach growling. Five little words screwed up the delicate balance she’d tried to achieve in her new life. Swing and a miss.
Another rumble in her empty jungle, and Sawyer trudged to the shower. She had the early morning shift at The Spot, the campus bookstore café, and had to bake a couple batches of muffins. Well, if popping a batch of premade, just-add-water mix in a tray and putting it in the oven counted as baking. Discarded clothes from the night before littered the floor. Sawyer ignored them, shoving on a pair of shapeless jeans and an equally unflattering sweater. Worn sneakers completed the look, if thrift store chic was a look.
The hallway was clear when she stepped out. No signs of movement from Andrew’s door. No Rosie barking and running over to lick her hand. Sawyer stared at Andrew’s place. She half expected him to swing the door open after spending the night staring through the peephole. He seemed like that kind of guy.
At the café, Sawyer heated the ovens and started up the fancy coffee machine, then poured the mix and water into a mixer. Watching muffin mix was boring and gave her overactive imagination time to come up with a million scenarios, all ending with the same scene: Chase, here in Boone, doing what he threatened every time they were in the same room.
The mixer finished. She shut down her crazy and spooned the mix into muffin liners, finishing just as her phone chimed. This time, she didn’t jump—the
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